


ps i love you.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, F/F, Future Fic, Love Letters, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6550864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s another box behind the first aid kit, one Lydia hasn’t seen before.  It’s open, the lid removed, and Lydia knows it’s none of her business, but she can’t help but notice it.  There’s a stack of paper, the writing Allison’s, the top sheet starting off, “Dear Lydia.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ps i love you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ericaismeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericaismeg/gifts).



Allison comes and goes.

It isn’t her fault.  Lydia knows that.  Allison’s the head of an important hunter clan, and she has Responsibilities.  She has to plan strategy, strike deals with the surrounding clans, clean up messes the pack leaves behind without meaning to.  Allison is a busy person, and Lydia thinks Allison almost likes it better that way.  Allison gets restless when things are too still, like she’s the hunted, instead of the hunter.  Sometimes, Lydia thinks she’s relieved to go away, because it feels like doing something.

Lydia’s never relieved when Allison goes away.  Their apartment feels empty.  Both of them are too neat, and with the small items that make up Allison’s daily life missing, the coat and flats by the door and the toothbrush by the sink and the crossbow on the kitchen table, the apartment feels almost sterile.  Tastefully decorated, of course.  But their home doesn’t feel so much like a home, and Lydia finds herself doing more of her work in the library of her university and less on the couch in the living room.

Allison is sometimes good about texting when she’s on a mission.  Lydia gets small messages, sometimes saying what she did and sometimes just saying that she’s safe.  Lydia saves them all.  She likes the reassurance of Allison’s messages, even though she doesn’t need them.  Every time Allison leaves, Lydia is painfully aware of the fact.  She waits in stasis, hoping desperately that she won’t wake up to a cold sweat, a scream dying in her throat, Allison’s image clear in her head.

Not that it’s really any different when Allison isn’t away.  Lydia can fight now, and she’s out there on the front lines with Allison more now that she can protect herself.  But not every mission needs a banshee, and sometimes Allison has small, routine jobs, border patrol or dealing with a rogue, that should be easy but turn up with complications.  At least when Allison’s there, when Lydia can hold her close, when Scott or Derek or Kira or Stiles can back her up.  When she has the pack to protect her, Lydia worries less.  

The rough nights still happen, though.  The scary ones, the ones like tonight.  The ones when monsters come close, too close for comfort, and the ground is painted with red.  Allison doesn’t heal like the others.  She bleeds, goes pale and shaky.

“You should go to Melissa,” Lydia tells her.  It isn’t the deepest cut.  Allison probably won’t even need stitches.  She’ll probably be fine with getting it cleaned and getting it covered and resting up a little while.

“Melissa’s on a date,” Allison says.  “We can take care of it at home.”

Lydia drives them back and sits Allison down at the kitchen table, gets Allison some juice, something with sugar but no caffeine.  She can see the ever-familiar wear in Allison’s body, the heavy weight on her shoulders and the dark bags under her eyes.  

“The first aid kit is in my room,” Allison says, and Lydia goes to get it.

It isn’t out on Allison’s table, like it usually is when Allison has it tucked away in her room.  It isn’t on the bed, either.  Lydia hesitates for a moment and then starts to dig, checks in all of Allison’s desk drawers before finally dropping down on her hands and knees to check under Allison’s bed.

The familiar white box is there, hidden by Allison’s bed skirt, and Lydia reaches for it.  Her eyes stray, though, while she pulls it out.  There’s another box behind it, one Lydia hasn’t seen before.  It’s open, the lid removed, and Lydia knows it’s none of her business, but she can’t help but notice it.  There’s a stack of paper, the writing Allison’s, the top sheet starting off, “Dear Lydia.”

It takes all of Lydia’s willpower to take the first aid kit and go.  But Allison’s cuts need treating, and the box is private.

“Did you find it?” Allison calls from the other room, and Lydia lets the bedskirt drop.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Lydia says back.

* * *

 

“I have to go tomorrow morning,” Allison says.

“It’s an emergency,” she says.

“I don’t want to go, either, but I have to.”

Lydia wants more than anything for her to rest.  She wants more than anything for Allison to relax, to take a few days off.  They all need some time off, Scott and Allison most.  But Scott has Stiles and Derek to bring him back when he needs it, and Allison, for all she’s part of the pack, feels like responsibility comes first, no matter who asks her to be kinder to herself.  

“I don’t like it,” Lydia says, because she has to protest.  She hasn’t given up on Allison.  She won’t give up on Allison.

“I know,” Allison responds.  “But I’ll be safe, I promise.  And I’ll be with my dad this time.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Lydia tells her.  She means it.  Allison knows she will.  But Lydia pulls Allison close, wraps her arms around her and holds her, and for just a moment, she can feel Allison drop the tension in her shoulders, can feel Allison’s body relaxing.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Allison says.  “I should sleep for the night, though.  I should be gone before you wake up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Lydia says.  

“Sleep well,” she says.

“I love you.”

“Night, Lydia,” Allison replies, and Lydia regrets letting the words slip from her mouth, the taste of them burning her tongue.

* * *

 

Allison is in Lydia’s room.  Or, at least, Lydia thinks she is.  Lydia isn’t sure, through the half-haze of sleep.  It could be a dream.  It wouldn’t be the first time Lydia dreamed of Allison in her room.  This time, though, Allison is dressed, only her feet bare, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail.

“Shh,” Allison says.  “Go back to sleep.”

Lydia’s eyes slip closed.  She doesn’t see what Allison does.  She doesn’t question why Allison is in her room.  She drifts back off to sleep.

She doesn’t hear Allison whisper, “I love you, too,” before she tiptoes back out and carefully closes the door.

* * *

 

Allison is gone, and Lydia is nosy.

Her mind drifts back to the letters in the box more than she’d like to admit.  She keeps herself out of Allison’s room for fear that she’ll stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.  Lydia understands better than most the need for privacy, enough that she would never dare disrespect Allison’s like that.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to.

She doesn’t spend much time in her room, and it takes a few days to find the letter tucked under a book on her desk.  It’s familiar handwriting, Allison’s careful script, Lydia’s name written in big letters on an envelope.  Lydia has nerves in the pit of her gut when she opens it, not knowing what to expect.  What she does see when she carefully unfolds the stationary paper isn’t what she would have expected.

_Dear Lydia,_

_I should only be gone a few days.  I promise I’ll be safe, so at the end of the trip I can come back to the pack.  And to you.  Most of all to you._

_I thought a lot last night, and there’s something I think it’s time you see, maybe.  There’s a box under my bed.  They’re letters I’ve written while I was gone, and I’ve been writing them for years.  I’ll text tonight, so I guess if you have any questions about it, you can ask then._

_Talk to you tonight,_

_Allison_

If pressed, Lydia would not admit to running to Allison’s room, but she maybe a little bit ran to Allison’s room.  She reaches under the bed and pulls it out, quickly scanning the first letter and realizing that maybe she might want to take her time reading these.

Every letter starts with “Dear Lydia” and ends with, “Love, Allison.”  They’re all dated, the earlier ones going all the way back to when they were in high school, to when Allison went on that very first trip with her dad.  Some of the earlier ones talk about what Allison is doing there, more venting than anything.  Talking about how overwhelmed she is, or how awful her family is, how little respect she has without having to bust ass.  Some of them are short, one line, or two, sloppily written, “I’m tired,” or, “I miss you”s.  

The further in Lydia reads, though, the more Lydia realizes that they aren’t really just journal entries.  It gets more blatant the more time passes, in Allison’s words, in the way she chooses her phrases carefully.

And then, there’s a letter when she finally outright says it.

_“I probably should be embarrassed, writing and saving all these love letters for you, but I guess I’m okay with being embarrassing.  Maybe someday it will be a cute story, me being in love with you and getting it all out into words.  Maybe someday, we’ll be together.  I hope so.  I love you a lot, and I don’t think that’s going to change.”_

Lydia wishes Allison were home.  Lydia wishes Allison were right there next to her, so she could kiss her on the lips and talk to her.

She has to wait for that, though.  She has to wait to tell Allison to her face how she feels.  But she has a phone, and Allison said to text her.  And Allison just put herself out in front of Lydia, made herself bare and vulnerable and open about her feelings.

So typing it out is easy, and pressing send feels like a weight off Lydia’s shoulders.

“I love you, too.”

“Come home soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
